


To Count the Stars

by abombinallsnowman



Category: Sherlock (TV), Third Star (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Lung Cancer, M/M, Unrequited Love, fusion-third star
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 09:25:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abombinallsnowman/pseuds/abombinallsnowman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Sherlock's fast-approaching death, Sherlock, John, Lestrade, and Mycroft take a journey to one of Sherlock's favorite places as a kid--Sussex Bay. But when the trip doesn't go as planned, no one has any idea what to do.</p><p>Fusion with Third Star. No need to have seen the movie, I have just takes the situation of the movie and switched out characters. Spoils for the movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Count the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> There is no such thing as Sussex Bay (that I know of), I just made it up to go with the story. Only I have beta'd this, so all mistakes are mine.

Sherlock turns thirty-three today. He won’t see forty, he won’t even see thirty-four. And he’s fine with that. He knew someday he’d have to go. Never predicted it would be this early in life, but there’s not much you can do about cancer.  
It’s not like Sherlock didn't see the possibility of lung cancer, not with all the cigs he’s smoked over the years. But SCLC is a rapidly-happening type of lung cancer that doesn't have much chances of treatment.  
His mother is taking it the worse, it seems. She doesn't show it, but since she’s asked Sherlock and Mycroft to visit more and more often, it’s obvious in the way she holds herself and the worsening bags under her eyes.  
Everyone is getting ready to go on the trip. John is packing their stuff and re-checking each day as it gets closer. Lestrade seems to be the most excited, although Sherlock doesn't exactly know why.  
It seems as though others have taken the cancer worse than Sherlock. As if they’re the ones with the sickness instead of Sherlock. Take, for example, John. Ever since the news he’s barely gone out, making excuses to stay in, make sure Sherlock doesn't cough up too much blood while he’s doing an experiment on toes.  
During his ‘party’--if you could even call it that--he saw old faces, some he didn't know, and some he never would have thought to see again, or wanted to, for that matter. Mycroft insisted on a birthday/going away party, and it seems he invited everyone. Mrs. Hudson, Mike Stamford, even Anderson and Sally.  
All Sherlock felt like doing was slipping away unnoticed and staying hidden until everyone left. So that’s what he did.  
He slowly slid out the back onto the large patio, trying not to breath too heavily as to start a coughing fit, and went around the side to get some much needed fresh air.  
He is happy to leave and go to his favorite place as a kid, even though he will miss London terribly, he’s happy to go to Sussex Bay. He hasn't gone since he was twelve, and he barely remembers how it looked, or smelled, but he remembers feeling joyful. The one of the only joyful experiences growing up.  
“I would expect our shining star in the midst of his own party, insulting whomever came near, not outside and trying to run away from a simple social gathering.” Mycroft slowly walked over.  
“If you actually want me to have fun, you would have taken me to a crime scene, not invite everyone in London to feel sorry for a dying carcass.” Sherlock responded, right before doubling-over and coughing.  
“If you really think that,” Mycroft held out a tissue that seemed to come from nowhere, “what’s the point in trying to fight the disease?”  
Sherlock tried to give his most-threatening grimace to his brother as he took the tissue. “You already know why.”

* * *

“Ha ha, no.” John said as soon Lestrade showed up wielding an acoustic guitar. “I am not going to listen to you try and play music on that thing. I much less want to hear you try and sing.”  
“Wha-but-...fine,” Lestrade said as he put it back in the car and let his wife drive off. “you don’t know what you’re missing, though.”  
As John finished packing the rental Jeep with Lestrade’s stuff, he got in the backseat with Sherlock and his cane, while Lestrade sat shotgun and Mycroft drives. After a long, drawn-out goodbye from Sherlock’s mum, they’re on the road.  
Sadly, John insisted on getting a camcorder and actually taping their whole trip, saying “it’s going to be our last adventure. I want to remember it.”  
As John tapes their road trip, they stop for snacks, while the whole time Sherlock says how boring and dull the trip has been so far, he’s also a bit happy. He’s no idea why, he decides not to question it.  
Once they get there, they load up the black ‘wagon-wheelchair thing’ as Sherlock says, with all the needed belongings. John insisted on getting it, knowing how weak Sherlock will become, and with Mycroft’s funding, they got it. Once they first got it, Sherlock wouldn't sit in it, insisting he’s stronger than both Mycroft and John combined, even though both knew it was a lie, with Sherlock already using a cane, and Sherlock would never be weak enough to need such a thing. So John stored it in 221C, with Mrs. Hudson’s approval, until this trip.  
After the whole thing was ready, Sherlock was still being stubborn, so he marched ahead, limping with his cane, as John trudged behind with the cart and Lestrade and Mycroft.  
John gave the camcorder to Lestrade, and Lestrade went around making stupid jokes, getting small chuckles from John, and even a small smile from Mycroft once. Sherlock was still in the front, but stayed close, responding with sarcasm to Lestrade when he would shove the camera in his face.  
After walking a little over a mile, Sherlock starts to show a bit of fatigue.  
“Are you sure you don’t want to sit in this? It’ll be a lot better than you trying to walk the rest of the miles.”  
“I’m fine. I don’t need to rest.” Sherlock says, not looking back at them.  
After John and Lestrade share a look, they run and grab Sherlock, Mycroft holding the cart, and with much protest and wrestling, they get Sherlock into the cart and buckle him in.  
“If you think this buckle will make me stay in this thing, you’re wrong.” Sherlock pouts as he crosses his arms, obviously not moving to try and get up.  
John rolls his eyes as Lestrade shakes his head, and they keep moving, now both pushing the cart as Mycroft stands by.  
They stop and have snacks, Mycroft and Lestrade talking while drinking tea from furnaces and John helping support Sherlock as he takes a piss.  
“Why did I sign up for this? Why do I have to this? Why not Lestrade, or your brother?” John mumbles to himself.  
“Oh, stop complaining. It’s not like you don’t enjoy this, you've been planning it for a month, and besides, you’re the perfect height to rest my arm on your shoulder.” Sherlock responds, finishing and then walking around on his cane. “Alright, let’s leave before the sun sets and we all die of frostbite.”

* * *

Once settled on a spot, they build two tents and a fire.  
“Anyone got a smoke?” Sherlock jokes, making John and Lestrade go into a fit of giggles as Mycroft shakes his head, smiling.  
Lestrade speaks up, “Nope, and you’ll never need one again. I did bring beers though.”  
“I’ll get them.” John says as he moves to the cart and pulls a cooler, bringing out four beer bottles and handing them around.  
Lestrade and John quickly twist them open as Sherlock and Mycroft stare at them, as if confused.  
“What? Have you never had a beer?” John asks, incredulous. “Not even for a case?”  
“I've tried it before, not indulged in it, though.” Sherlock twists it open and takes a swig. After making a face, he seems to put deep thought into it. “The aftertaste is very bitter, but not appalling.”  
Mycroft has taken a sip by now, and seems to take another one, as if testing for a poison.  
Lestrade and John have barely drunk any because they've been laughing at the Holmes’.  
“A toast,” John declares, holding his bottle up and waiting for everyone to hold theirs up, even Mycroft who hesitantly does so, as if he’s never done anything like this in his life, which might be so. “A toast to the birthday boy, my flatmate, and my friend. May you ever-so continue to be the most stubborn, but intelligent man I've ever met, until you no longer walk the earth, in which they will tell legends about you.”  
“Very touching.” Sherlock says sarcastically after they've touched glasses and downed some more beer.  
With that, Lestrade turns on the stereo he brought, and he and John start to dance, while also drinking their second beer. Mycroft and Sherlock sit back and laugh with them, now used to taste of the alcohol, and almost finished with their first ones.  
After a few more beers, Sherlock decides to get up and dance with them, knowing he’s going to leave soon, he’d like to indulge on their happiness. And with how he’s starting to slur words and cough a bit more, he’d say he’s drunk. Which also says something about Mycroft, who has gotten up and isn’t dancing, but grinning like a madman as he watched his younger brother make a fool of himself.

* * *

Once up and about, Sherlock is walking on his cane, as usual, while they keep moving on.  
They get to a little village-type area, with people, a couple shops, and a restaurant. John has whipped out the camcorder once there, making sure to get all the dancing people in flower hats.  
Mycroft goes off to look for a phone signal, while Lestrade looks around the shops. John sits next to Sherlock, who has gotten in his cart, for once, but John doesn't mention it.  
“I thought I’d have more time.” Sherlock whispers to himself. “I thought I’d live longer, go into beekeeping in a little cottage in Sussex, die an old age. I want to run around, chasing criminals, and not care if I’m going to fall over and cough up my spleen. How could the world be so cruel, so horrible, as to take lives, as if they’re nothing, and let them rot.”  
“I...don’t know what to say to that. This is nice, though. Nice weather, nice people.”  
Sherlock nods, looking around at the dancing people.  
Mycroft comes back and stands with them as they watch Lestrade get in a little tuff with a few people, throwing punches, and soon everyone’s involved. Mycroft stands back, not wanting to get in the way.  
“Let’s get in” Sherlock decides.  
“What are you, crazy? “  
“Come on, this is what I've been talking about, something to get your blood running, right, doctor?”  
John sighs, rubbing his face. “Alright.”  
Sherlock gets his cane out as John barrels him into the middle, knocking over more than a few. Once a couple have recovered, they target Sherlock, coming close, but both Sherlock and John take them down, but as more and more recover, it gets hard to defend oneself, and one of the larger guys knock Sherlock’s jaw.  
“Hey! He’s got cancer!” John yells, but the drunkards don’t listen as they advance on Sherlock, “I’m serious! Don’t hit someone with cancer!” Everyone goes silent, but then Lestrade runs and kicks one of them in the balls, as John and Mycroft quickly pull the cart and Sherlock out of the area, Lestrade close behind.  
A few try and follow, but with how drunk they are, they quickly slow down and give up.

* * *

The next day, after packing up both tents, Sherlock walks with his cane, stubborn as ever, as they walk town to get on the ferry. After paying for the four of them and the cart, they go aboard the ferry. Once there, John makes sure Sherlock gets his meds before camping out, just as he always does before they go to bed.  
Sherlock gets worse and worse everyday. The meds help, but soon they won’t need them anymore, too far into the disease. He’s gotten so much weaker, he needs help to get up sometimes. He’s also been coughing more often and his breathing has become shorter, sometimes even wheezing in his sleep. John notices all this with his medical eye, but doesn't say anything, knowing that Sherlock must have picked up on it.  
John’s suspicions become confirmed once Sherlock whispers, “Don’t tell them.” To him once the other two are off talking.  
Once night falls and the fire is up, talk drifts toward death.  
“Do you believe in God?” Sherlock asks no one in particular. “You all know I don’t. Ha, that’d be a laugh. But come on, Lestrade? I know John doesn't, but he’s also curious about what could be out there.”  
Before Lestrade speaks, John chimes in, “It’s not that I’m as much curious about religion, it’s just that I want to believe in something, you know?”  
“Yeah,” Lestrade starts. “My wife and I used to regularly go to church, you know, each Sunday, whatever, but once our marriage started slipping, I guess we just kind of...forgot to keep going. I don’t know if I believe in anything.”  
“Well, since it seems like no one knows what they believe in, I believe that we all decay in our graves, never to be seen again.” Mycroft states, clearly trying to end this discussion.  
Sherlock nods, as if on auto-pilot as he closes his eyes and puts his hands together under his chin, clearly in deep thought.  
As if that’s the queue, Lestrade goes off to bed, John starts to pack away items, and Mycroft puts out the fire. John goes into the tent he shared with Sherlock and pulls out a blanket, draping it over Sherlock’s shoulders, knowing it’ll be a few hours until he’ll crawl into bed.

* * *

Once morning, Lestrade makes a cuppa for himself while Mycroft and John eat biscuits. Sherlock comes out of the tent, looking rugged and all over the place.  
“Oh look, Lestrade knows how to make a cup of tea. You know what he can’t make? A marriage. I bet you still live with her, even after she cheated on you on more than one occasion. Why don’t you just get a divorce already? Or is it because you still love her?”  
“Sherlock!” Mycroft protests.  
“Oh, shut-” Sherlock doubles over, coughing and coughing, he lays down on the sand as he spits out blood while coughing. John is up immediately, going over and patting him on the back, cleaning his mouth with a tissue and getting water for him. Once Sherlock calms down, he drinks the water slowly and lies to rest a few minutes. John takes this chance to give him his morning drugs.  
Lestrade and Mycroft go off to let Sherlock calm down.  
“I've been with my wife for years and I've never known her to cheat. Why would she cheat on me?”  
“Sometimes it’s those closest to us that can surprise us the most.” Mycroft replies.  
Lestrade looked at him. He looks at the Mycroft that’s tired, the one that’s crumpling under all the weight, the one which is the strongest and will fight for his brother, wherever that may lead. Lestrade sees the young child, the one who had to mature faster than the others so he could protect his brother.  
Lestrade pulls Mycroft into a tight embrace, but before Mycroft can react, Lestrade is moving away, back to camp to leave Mycroft to his own thoughts.

* * *

The next day, they keep moving, Sherlock in the cart while they get closer and closer to the bay. Everyone is still in high spirits, but sometimes it feels forced to Sherlock. Like everyone would want to just leave.now, forget anything happened.  
Of course, that’s not how everyone actually is, it’s just how Sherlock sees it.  
Really, Lestrade is having fun on their trip. He never knew the other Holmes had a heart and deeply cared for his brother. From what it seemed back in London, Mycroft was a large part in the government and cared for his country more than anything else, but from conversations with him it has shown Lestrade that Mycroft loves his brother, and will be sad to see him go.  
Mycroft thought this trip would be a waste of time. He’d rather be doing something else than his brother’s going away trip, or he thought so, in the beginning. He’s actually glad he went on this trip, even though his brother protested for weeks that he go, John still thought it was necessary to bring along Mycroft, telling Sherlock, “he’s your closest relative, and can be a pain in the arse sometimes, but that’s what siblings do.” So, that’s how Mycroft got on this trip, or one of the big reasons, since this’ll be one of the last times he might see his brother.  
Contrary to what Sherlock thinks, John is happy. He’s happy to get Sherlock to go out and do something other than cases. Each day is a harder and harder step to take, with Sherlock worsening and showing it, it’s also taking a toll on John. John really thought they’d have more time. But after being told Sherlock has only five months to live, once Sherlock got a check-up at an actual doctor’s office, John has been trying to use the time wisely. Calling in and trying to go to as many crimes scenes as possible is about all he could think to do, but Sherlock liked it. Of course, he complained about them being too easy, too dull, but he kept going to them, and John calls that a win. That was four months ago.

* * *

That night, Sherlock dreams.  
He dreams of a life without him in it. With crime over London, police out their depth, about the same as it always is.  
But what gets to him, in this dream, is John.  
John, who he watches as he walks around London, late at night, with his wool sweater and a terrible-looking hat, he’s even wearing a scarf, and walking with a cane. He watches as the cold winter air wisps around him, walking as if a shadow among others. Some don’t even notice him, bumping him by accident, making him teeter and hold his shoulder in pain.  
John, who walks with his head, going nowhere in particular, only as if to pass the time. He walk with no purpose, obvious signs of depression in the lines of his face. He walks slow, while people around go fast, trying to get to their destination as quickly as possible. John goes into a little coffee shop and orders tea to go, then walks to the park and sits on a bench, slowly drinking tea.  
No one looks at him, no one makes notice, but he doesn't seem to mind. As if he’s too used to this kind of behavior.  
Sherlock tries to call out to him, to make John notice him, but before he can get one word out, he’s into a fit of coughs, worse than ever as he spits globs of blood, seeming as if it’s pouring out of him. The winds moves fast around him, and soon, he’s seeing himself becoming the wind, dissolving into the air.  
Sherlock wakes, wheezing hard and John has his head in his lap, water in his hand and a cold rag on his forehead. Sherlock’s relief floods into him as John makes him drink water.  
“You were having a nightmare and woke me up.”  
“John,” Sherlock says after drinking some water, “thank you.”  
“It was nothing, I’m a light sleeper, thanks to the army, it’s all fine.”  
Sherlock was about to say that it isn't, that nothing can be fine again, but then John renews the cold cloth in his head, and all his words dissolve.

* * *

“What are you going to do, once I’m gone?”  
It seems like a rhetorical question to John, but he answers anyway, “I...don’t know. I guess I’ll keep after Mrs. Hudson, keep my job at Barts. Maybe I’ll meet someone at a pub, get married, settle down.”  
It was morning, Lestrade and Mycroft having breakfast while John makes a cuppa.  
“Boring. There’s no adventure, no excitement.” Sherlock says  
“You could help on cases,” Lestrade chips in. “always nice to have a doctor’s opinion.”  
John seems to think on this. “I think that might be good. Of course, I won’t be running around, chasing criminals, but that sounds nice.”  
“What special thing do you want in life?” Sherlock blurts out. “Are you going to make something out of yourself? Do something with your pointless life? Any of you?”  
Lestrade and John looked shocked by his outburst, but Mycroft just rolls his eyes. “You don’t need to be special to live a worthy life, Sherlock. Don’t let cancer be a reason to be rude to your closest friends.”  
“Don’t try to be the mature one just because of your spot in the government.” Sherlock spat at Mycroft. “You don’t care for anything, you would be sitting in your office right now, pretending to care about your dying brother when all you would be doing is making my will. You never wanted to come on this trip, but John made you, because you're my ‘brother’.”  
Mycroft heaves a sigh, rubbing his forehead. “You still don’t appreciate your life. You've had cancer for almost the past five months, and you still use your time to try and show people you're smarter than them.”  
“Boys, stop it, right now.” John uses in his commanding voice.  
“Why? Just because I’m telling the truth none of you want to hear?” Mycroft gets up and deliberately walk away.  
Lestrade sighs, while he and John pack up food. Sherlock slowly gets up, with John’s help, and walks him and his cane over to follow Mycroft.  
“I do appreciate life.”  
“Odd way to show it, wouldn't you think?”  
They were facing the sea, both not looking at each other, but standing side-by-side.  
“I don’t want to die.” Sherlock whispers. “I thought I’d have more time.”  
“Have you told him?” Mycroft looks over at his younger brother. The brother that shouldn't be dying at such a young age, even before their mummy has passed.  
Sherlock scrunches his eyebrows, thinking. “No, but I don’t think I will. He’ll be better off without the thought.”  
“If I was in your place, I would do whatever I could to tell him.”  
“Well you’re not in my place, Mycroft. You never will be.” Sherlock turns to go, but Mycroft catches his arm.  
“This is a pain for me, watching you wilt away. If I could, I would take this all away.”

* * *

They lost the cart.  
Well, not lost as much as ‘let go and it accidentally wheeled off the cliff’ but same difference. Now they have no map, no bags, pretty much nothing.  
All they have right now is Lestrade’s backpack that he brought, which has Sherlock’s meds, some food, and a few supplies.  
Sherlock goes off, saying he’s walk there if no one else wants to go. Which leads to Sherlock heavily limping, and the rest following behind. John stands near Sherlock for support if he needs it.  
Soon, Sherlock is trying not to show his shortness of breath and she’s trying not to wheeze or cough.  
Without saying anything, John gets in front of Sherlock and hoists him up, piggy-back style. With little protest from Sherlock, they move along.

* * *

As they keep going, some of the trip Sherlock walking, some of it John carrying him, they get closer to the area.  
They barely talk as they keep walking, more of trying to get there,m now that their cart is gone.  
As they move across harder terrain, John carries Sherlock, Mycroft is in front, leading the way, and Lestrade is in the back, holding the backpack.  
No one notices the meds falling from the bottom of the bag.  
As they keep going, the journey seems to get longer and longer, with Sherlock coughing and everyone tired.

* * *

After a while, they see it. Sussex Bay. They all stand over the cliff, looking down at it, they’ll need to go around the side and down a hill, but right now, all they do is rest for a moment, standing around and looking down, at the clear water and undisturbed sand.  
Once down on the sand, Lestrade and John strip to their boxers. John helps Sherlock roll up his pants and use one of his shirts. Mycroft crosses his arms, watching them.  
“Oh, come off it, Mycroft. If I can get in the water, so can you.” Sherlock teased. “How about, for my dying wish, I want you to get in the water and enjoy this. I know Lestrade will.” Of course, Sherlock has noticed Mycroft’s interest in the D.I. by now, no use hiding it.  
Mycroft shoots daggers at him, as he does the same as Sherlock, rolling up his pants and Lestrade letting him use one of his shirts from the backpack.  
They all run to the water, with no clouds in the sky and the sun in the sky, John and Lestrade hold up Sherlock as they go into the waves, Mycroft more hesitant, but all the same trying to look as if he’s enjoying it.  
Lestrade takes his hand and pulls him deeper into the water.  
That’s the time where John gets behind Lestrade and dunks him under the water, laughing while they both splash Mycroft and watching his face.  
Sherlock stands more closer to the shallow water, laughing at his brother, who hasn't been in the water since his teens, and watching his friends have fun figuring it out.  
Sherlock doesn't remember being any more at ease than he is now.  
After a while, they set up the one tent they have, Sherlock wearing his coat and using a blanket. He sits outside while watching Lestrade and John use large pieces of driftwood to make signs in the sand. Mycroft sits aside, watching them with mild interest.  
Once night, Sherlock sits on the sand, in front of the waves, watching the moon-less night sky, with the billions of stars shining above. Mycroft comes and sits beside him, silently watching the waves.  
“I thought I’d be ready by now. After five months, I thought I’d be ready to say goodbye. Mycroft...I’m-” Sherlock coughs, “scared.” He seems to whisper, as if he can’t believe he’s saying it.  
“Well, dear brother, you've got to be afraid of something.”  
“Are you?”  
Mycroft looks over at his brother. “Yes.”  
They sit in silence, watching the night sky and the waves.  
Back at camp, Lestrade and John started a fire. They’re talking amongst themselves as Sherlock and Mycroft sit down to join the warmth.  
“I’m going to take a swim tomorrow,” Sherlock blurts, stopping Lestrade and John’s conversation. “I’m going out and I’m not going to be back. I want to die on my own terms.”  
“No, don’t do this-” John starts  
“Don’t make me repeat myself!” Sherlock goes into a fit of coughs. “You have to let me do this.”  
After a moment of silence, Lestrade asks, “Was this your plan all along?”  
Sherlock looks at his hands. “Yes.” Lestrade sighs, and Sherlock looks at him. “I want to make my own choices, not wilt away, taking dug after drug. I don’t want my body to overrun my mind. I might as well smoke a cigarette, it’s not going to get better than this!” As if on queue, Sherlock starts coughing. “This is it. All that it’s going to be. You’ll tell everyone that I went out during the night, and by the time you saw me floating in the ocean, it was too late.”  
John has his hand covering his face. Lestrade looks shell-shocked. Mycroft looks down, he should have seen this coming.  
Sherlock looks around. “It’s not as I can go back to London and work on cases. I’d just be lying in bed, waiting until this disease took over my entire body. There’d be nothing of me, nothing worth anything, just a corpse that can breath.”  
Nobody says anything. John is shaking his head, Lestrade looks like he can’t believe what Sherlock said, and Mycroft says, “You can’t do this, brother. I promised mummy I’d bring you home.”  
Sherlock shakes his head, “I knew it was too much to ask. All of you would've never came along if I said that in the beginning. None of you would take this lightly.”

* * *

Before night, John searches the bag for the meds.  
“Hey, hey! Where’d the meds go?” John shouts, as Sherlock coughs up more blood. “They were here earlier, fuck, we must’ve dropped them.”  
Lestrade and Mycroft run off with torches to try and look for the bag of meds, while John stays and gives water to Sherlock between coughs, making sure to clean the blood from his mouth with a tissue.  
Once they found it and run back, Sherlock is sweating and coughing. John takes hold of his head as he gives the liquid to Sherlock.

* * *

In the morning, they all sit on the sand, watching the waves.  
Sherlock gets up, with the help of John, and starts to swim out. He mostly uses his legs, his arms and shoulders too weak. Mycroft, Lestrade, and John watch as he bobs over the waves, none taking this lightly.  
John and Lestrade have watery eyes, while Mycroft looks detached, watching his younger brother swim out.  
Without a word, John takes off his shoes, and jacket, starting to jog out while Lestrade does the same. After a moment, Mycroft does the same.  
All four swim out, farther than the waves, where you would have to swim to be able to touch the bottom of the sea. No one says anything as they keep swimming. Soon it’s too deep and Mycroft starts spluttering water, not used to the depth.  
Lestrade pulls him and takes him back to the shore.  
“Oh fuck, Sherlock. I’m scared.”  
“It’s fine, me too.” Sherlock responds. “I’ll keep swimming, but I’d rather not be alone for it.”  
John smiles, but it doesn't touch his eyes.  
“Please, John. This is all I ask of you. And...” He looks over to see Lestrade and Mycroft hugging tightly. “I...love you, John. Don’t leave me.”  
John looks shocked. His mouth is opened, and he’s looking at Sherlock. But then he’s nodding his head, of course he’ll follow Sherlock. He’ll follow him, wherever he goes.  
John is hugging him as Sherlock coughs, “I love you, too.”  
Sherlock slips from his arms, slowly sinking, leaving his mouth open to let the seawater in.  
Mycroft start running back into the water, but Lestrade catches him, making sure he won’t accidentally drown.  
John takes a deep breath, then goes under the water. He holds Sherlock’s head in both hands, not letting go. He watches as air bubbles leave Sherlock’s mouth, and it’s all he can do, but with a force, he pushes their heads together, kissing Sherlock for all he is.  
Before he can’t breath, he pulls away, keeping his eyes opened underwater as he sees more and more air bubbles leave his best friend. He hold his face, not as strongly as before, as he watches his friend be consumed by the water.  
As Sherlock slips from us hands, John has no choice but to come up for air.  
He looks down to see the blurred image of the most intelligent man he’s ever met. The one who loved him. The one who no one else could stand, even on one of his good days. The one that cancer took.  
John takes his body back to shore, once close enough, Lestrade and Mycroft take hold and bring him to the sand while John lays in the shallow water, letting himself cry. Lestrade comes over and brings him back to where Mycroft stands over his body, and Mycroft who has a single tear on his face as he looks down at his late brother.

 

John, I want you to know how much of a miracle you were to me, you  
will always be remembered by me, and I hope to always be in your  
memory. You’ve helped me through cases and through boredom,  
and for that, I thank you. You’ll get this letter once you go through  
my bedroom, and I hope you’ll have a happy life. You’ll meet some-  
one to love, and have a family with them. A relationship between us  
would’ve never worked, and that’s why I kept secret. I never meant  
to hurt you. I hope I haven’t, but that’s unlikely. Don’t get hung up by  
my death. We both know it is much better that I die than you.  
With all my regards, Sherlock Holmes


End file.
